O, it’s hard and dry, when the sun is high, and dust is in your throat, when the rain pours down, near fit to drown, soaks through your beard and coat,
But the dwarves of Hiddenhold, my lads, stout hearts they walk with me, o’er hill and plain, and back again, to the shores of the wide blue sea,
Through mud and mire to a warm campfire, I’ll trek with ye, old friend, o’er lea and dale in a roaring gale, right to our journey’s end,
Aye, the dwarves of Hiddenhold, my lads, favour friendship, song and gold. We’ll share long days, and tread hard ways, good comrades brave and bold!
A dwarven company of far-flung adventurers, dungeoneers and doughty warriors – led by the indomitable Irontooth, this stout band plumbs the deepest vaults in pursuit of glittering hoards and lost dwarf-lore, and hone their axes against hated foes across countless fields of strife.
Hailing from the cavernous halls of Hiddenhold, an isolated delving in the northern reaches of Khaz Modan, the dwarves of Clan Buringard ever descend in quest of riches and renown, to forge new friendships, and avenge any wrong against their kinsfolk with dour-handed strokes. Despite their clan’s dwindled numbers, the dwarves are compelled by oaths and brotherly bonds to meet even mighty hosts of the Horde head-on with unerring zeal.
Intensely proud of their dwarven heritage and traditions, their artisanry and trade, yet suspicious and protective of their treasures and secrets of smith-craft; no outsider has ever seen the inside of their hidden halls, and few heroes have won Buringard’s favour, wielding their dwarf-forged arms into battle. With war brewing, those stout of heart and stature arise from under hill and high fell to settle the score once again, and call on their fellow dwarves to find new adventure.
Strong is the hammer, deep is the hollow, the path we forge, others will follow!